


What Happens in Vegas...

by AceQueenKing



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Accidental Marriage, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Mention of (prevented) potential assault, Mission Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-18 05:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13675407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: Nick and Natasha wake up married after a mission goes sideways.





	What Happens in Vegas...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reeby10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reeby10/gifts).



 Natasha awoke handcuffed to a radiator.

 She groggily squinted into the dusty light of what appeared to be one of Vegas' historical hotels, albeit one that had hit tough times.  The kind that rented for an hour maybe, judging by the chips in the woodwork by the (empty) bed; the kind that never asked for ID.

 Which was good, because she wasn't wearing more than a white, beaded dress that didn't have room for underwear, let alone pockets. The only accessory she had was a headache that she was pretty sure was pounding _outside_ of her head.

She scanned the room from her position; from her limited viewpoint, it was still empty. She licked her dry lips and slowly, silently pulled a hairpin out of her hair. She appeared to have lost most of them after her fifth mojito on the mission, but thankfully one or two still clung stubbornly to her hair. Whoever had locked her up had underestimated her ability to get out of trouble, and she was grateful. She picked the lock quickly, then stood up, rubbing her sore wrist. It wasn't until she managed to free herself that she noticed a new addition to her outfit: a plain, golden ring, that someone had placed on her bound hand. She blinked at it, tried, to remember details, and failed. Instict took over, and Natasha did she did best when something upset her on a mission: she decided to process _that_ later.

 And then she looked for a weapon, and tried to remember what the hell happened last night.

 She'd been with Nick Fury, that much she remembered; arm candy to help set one of the Vegas mobsters at ease. Nick had been hoping to get the guy to give'em some space by the strip, hoping that he'd look the other way while Nick and her set up a desert operation to work on Operation Retrieval. Tony wouldn't be able to easily look for them there, and Steve'd be safe while they went to retrieve Barton and Wanda. And as for them, well, Natasha figured they wouldn't want to see water for a good, _long_ time.

 She wanted to yell out for Nick, but didn't. This wasn't the hotel that they'd started in last night; they'd been in a motel six, something lower-key. The flour groaned underneath her bare feet. She winced, but no reaction came.

 She passed the bed, which she noted didn't appear to be slept in. She leaned against the open door and listened, but heard nothing; she slipped into a hotel bathroom. Also empty, also showing copious signs of use around the shower – missing tiles, a sink that looked like it had had enough lipstick on it to never quite get it clean again. Sitting in the sink were her high-heels, and she grabbed them, figuring the stilettos would make a decent enough emergency weapon if needed.

 She heard a noise, a low sound that sounded like a television with the volume turned low. She glanced around the corner and saw a familiar dark head, and sighed with relief. Nick was sitting on the couch. The mobster was in the chair, unconscious or dead; she wasn't sure which from her vantage point, bu the mobster's head was tilted back at an angle that suggested he was definitively not conscious.

 “Nick,” she whispered.

 He turned toward her and held up a wrist. He, too, had been chained into place. She raised an eyebrow, an unspoken request in her body language: _coast clear?_

 “It's clear,” he said, his voice as hoarse as hers. “I think. I can't see much beyond this chair.”

 She didn't need much more reason to move toward him. “You okay?” She asked in a hushed whisper, noticing as she stepped closer that he had been bleeding.

 “As okay as it can be, considering I'm chained to a god-damned chair.” He groaned. She took her lockpick and put it into the lock, slowly turning it.

 “What happened?” She asked, quietly. “I can't remember a lot about last night.”

 He gave her a look that, if she didn't know better, she'd call embarrassed. He didn't say anything for a moment, as if he needed to gather the words. Instead, he answered with a question: “What all _do_ you remember?”

 That meant they were in hot shit. When _Fury_ didn't want to come right out and say it, she knew something _bad_ had happened last night.

 “Not a lot, like I said. Drinks. Cards. Your friend over there – “ she glanced toward the gangster, only now noticing that he was most definitively dead. Her eyes widened as she saw the bullet in his chest; it had been a good shot, but it meant that Fury had fired off the pistol he kept hidden up his sleeve, the kind he only kept for _true_ emergencies. “Jesus. What the hell happened?”

 “Our friend Mr. Vegas over there invited us up to his penthouse to hand over the keys to some old bunker in the desert we might use. I didn't like it, but he was insistent, and I figured between us we'd have him.”

 “Good plan,” she said. “Seems to be working great.”

 “Yeah, well, what I didn't know was that our friend over there had a major cuckolding fetish. After we got married at the twenty-four hour place – “  
  
His handcuff slid open with a snap at the same moment as Natasha rocked backward in shock. She had to have misheard that. “I'm sorry, after we --- what?”

 He raise an eyebrow. “You saw one of those twenty four hour chapels on the way here and mentioned wanting to get married in one. Our friend thought he should oblige, and I figured you were just tryin' to sell it.”  He looked a bit guiltily at her, then hastily added. “We'll erase it soon enough, don't worry.”

 “Why the _fuck_ would I say that?” She said, then winced as Nick looked away. It came off as harsher than she'd intended, but she was pretty sure she'd never asked to get married. Nick and her had a strictly _don't ask don't tell_ relationship – neither of them asked about the status, and so the other didn't tell them they wanted more. Suddenly wanting to get married – let alone in a Vegas chapel – was rather… out of her usual behavior.

 The guilty furrow to his brows continued. “I thought you were trying to sell the cover. But then once I got back here, I found out our dead friend had a cuckold fetish the size of new york.” He stood slowly, and she heard the pop and click of his bones as he stood. She followed, rising a bit more smoothly. She was now _quite_ sure they were alone; if anyone else was here, they would have burst in on them while they were talking.

 “He told me he'd put something in your drink to make you more ...pliant.” His mouth twisted in distaste as he stared at the corpse. “Locked you up in the bedroom and dismissed his goons. Then he hooked me over here and sat over there to tell me about how he was going to 'ravish' you and make me watch. I decided we didn't need the damn bunker that badly.”

 “Thanks,” she said, staring at the corpse. “And then you just stayed here for hours. Waiting for me to wake up and save you?”

 “Pretty much.” His ringed hand linked her own. “Figured you'd get out sooner or later. You're a tough one to kill.”

 “You too.” She said, squeezing his hand in a rare show of affection. She wobbled a few steps forward and, with great distaste, patted at the dead man's pockets. They'd come all this way, after all. No condoms, she noted, which somehow made the intended assault even _more_ awful, but there was something hard and smooth, and she pulled it out triumphantly: a key.

 “Well, I'll be damned.” He smiled at her. “Still not worth it, but let's see if that's the key to the right place.”

 “We leave the body?”

 “Not much choice otherwise.” He cracked his neck. “We'll do an anon call once we're far enough off to be off the trail. Can get a quicky divorce when we pass over City Hall, too.”

 “You know, I was thinking...” She grabbed his hand as they walked toward the door. “It's probably a bit of a bother to try to get back on the record. I mean, you _are_ technically listed as dead in most government databases.”

 “Yeah, but...” He frowned. “I didn't think you – “  
  
“I can live with it if you can. If you want to.” She said, as they slowly walked outside. Nick tried the ky and she felt hopeful when it didn't work on the apartment.

 “Sounds good.” He said, then turned back toward her. “Now, ready to call the cops and get a shower?”  
  
“Sure,” she said. "If you're willing to share."

He didn't say anything in response, but he threw his arm around her. She leaned into it, and they walked out together, just two more newlyweds walking out onto the Vegas strip. 


End file.
